


clumsy

by youaremarvelous



Series: Yuri!!! on Ice Tumblr Drabbles [9]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Valentine's Day, falling in love...but like literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremarvelous/pseuds/youaremarvelous
Summary: Viktor never expected falling in love would involve so much, well, falling.aka Yuri!!! on Ice the romantic comedy“They’re running again,” Viktor whispers, wraps his fingers around Yuuri’s forearm. The flight from Hasetsu to the Rostelecom Cup is fifteen hours and he and Yuuri have spent the last eight of it watchingFrench Kiss,Sleepless in Seattle,Bridget Jones’ Diary, andWhen Harry Met Sallyin mind-numbing succession. “What is it about love that gets people in such a rush?”He finds out a few agonizingly long days of contemplative airplane window gazing, veterinary office pacing, and white-knuckled tv watching later.‘When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody—’ Billy Crystal’s voice as Harry Burns echoes through Viktor’s mind when he catches his first sight of Yuuri since they parted ways in Russia—eyes to his feet, visibly lonely in a way that hurts—‘you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.’





	clumsy

It’s not arrogant for Viktor to think of himself as a generally dexterous person. His career revolves around performing incredible feats of athleticism and artistry balanced on a thin blade atop a slippery ice slab, so really, it’s a natural conclusion to reach. **  
**

 

It’s also why it shocks more than embarrasses him the first time he reaches for a dumpling—engrossed in a riveting conversation about his old oxblood red, velvet and gossamer Persephone-inspired SP costume (he had no idea Yuuri was such a dual fashion design and ancient Greek mythology enthusiast)—and elbows a glass of water right into Yuuri’s lap.

 

By the time Viktor’s brain has fully processed what happened, Yuuri has already pushed himself back from the table and started patting down his jeans with a napkin.

 

Water drips off the edge of the tabletop, pooling on the floor in telling Rorschach patterns, and Viktor pulls his arms back with a quiet hiss. “Sorry, Yuuri—” he stands, tries not to stare too hard at the wet spot positioned right over Yuuri’s crotch. “I’ll get a towel.”

 

It’s not his proudest moment—for one, he doesn’t remember the last time he honest to god blushed over the mere  _thought_  of someone’s dick—but he doesn’t think much of it until two days later when he slips over a rotted, partially flattened banana peel on the Ice Palace walkway.

 

Viktor scrapes himself off the concrete—pride wounded, body less so—and tries to pass it off with some lame joke about how “bananas” it is to fall victim to such a cliché trope. He considers it further proof of Yuuri’s generosity and overall loveliness when he actually laughs.

 

Something about Yuuri makes him stupid about his own dimensions, Viktor decides when a week later he narrowly avoids jogging right into an open manhole during his and Yuuri’s morning run.

 

“Sorry,” he pants, blinking at the dark chasm visible beyond the obstruction of his knees and sneakers. It takes him a full few seconds to realize he’s sitting on the asphalt, back leaned against Yuuri’s heaving chest. “Are you okay?” Viktor scrambles to stand a little too fast. He gets tripped up over his own feet and nearly topples back into the hole, but Yuuri maintains his grip in the back of Viktor’s shirt, pulls him away from the ledge.

 

“Fine,” Yuuri exhales. The word wobbles a little at the end, laughter bursting at the edges. “Are you?”

 

Viktor straightens his shirt and taps a toe on the ground. “It’s these shoes, you know?” He looks to Yuuri—still sprawled on the street, glasses crooked on his nose. “I heard they had a recall.”

 

“Is that right?” Yuuri asks, accepting Viktor’s hand when he offers it.

 

“‘Fraid so,” Viktor nods, pulling Yuuri back to his feet. “Not at all manhole resistant.”

 

Yuuri covers his mouth with his hand and laughs and Viktor only just manages to bite back a comment about how much he relates.

 

“It’s his hair,” Viktor tells Chris over facetime later that night. He leans his elbow on his desk, his forehead in his palm. “It’s just—” he waves his free hand around, searching for the word. “It’s so—”

 

Chris tilts his head. “…Black?”

 

“I know, right?” Viktor snaps his head up, eyes wide.

 

“Wow,” Chris’ mouth tilts into a sardonic smile. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

 

Truthfully, neither did Viktor. He stares into the mirror that night, fingers gripped against the porcelain countertop. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov,” he tells himself. He runs a hand through his hair, tries to flash his trademark practiced smile. It’s always been something of an act, but this time it feels fake in a way that makes his skin crawl. His shoulders slump and he sighs, turns his eyes to the ceiling, wonders how the hell he’s supposed to convince Yuuri to believe in him when he’s having trouble believing in himself.

 

Two weeks later he trips while chasing Yuuri down the shoreline and catches himself on the back of Yuuri’s swim trunks. He gets a face full of sand and spends the next few hours blinking grit out of his eyes, but at least the view was nice going down.

 

“They’re running again,” Viktor whispers, wraps his fingers around Yuuri’s forearm. The flight from Hasetsu to the Rostelecom Cup is fifteen hours and he and Yuuri have spent the last eight of it watching _French Kiss_ ,  _Sleepless in Seattle_ ,  _Bridget Jones’ Diary_ , and  _When Harry Met Sally_  in mind-numbing succession. “What is it about love that gets people in such a rush?”

 

He finds out a few agonizingly long days of contemplative airplane window gazing, veterinary office pacing, and white-knuckled tv watching later.

 

‘ _When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody_ —’ Billy Crystal’s voice as Harry Burns echoes through Viktor’s mind when he catches his first sight of Yuuri since they parted ways in Russia—eyes to his feet, visibly lonely in a way that hurts—‘ _you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible_.’

 

Viktor explodes from his seat and runs to meet Yuuri at the exit, Makkachin in tow. He weaves around piles of luggage and milling travelers, trajectory clear, feet surer than they’ve been since he first landed in Japan seven months ago.

 

When Yuuri falls into his arms, Viktor understands the concept of ‘home’ in a way that expands time or space. He feels the earth tilt on its axis, his equilibrium slide back into place, a new sense of self and certainty ground him to the spot.

 

He closes his eyes, breathes in the familiar scent of Yuuri’s soap, lets the clamor of the crowded airport fade out and the rightness of the moment soak into him. 

 

‘ _If I had to fall for anyone_ ,’ he thinks, shuddering against the warmth of Yuuri’s breath against his cheek, ‘ _I’m glad it got to be you_.’

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable [here](http://youremarvelous.tumblr.com/post/170877682113/clumsy)


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